


Climbing the Great Tree

by PseudonymVirtue



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymVirtue/pseuds/PseudonymVirtue
Summary: Ashe explores her inheritance  and her losses, and at the end of the day there's only one she'd prefer to call her own. Post-game.





	Climbing the Great Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Playing FFXII for the first time this past summer made me fall in love with the Balthier/Ashe pairing, and I find their circumstances both heartbreaking and inspiring. This fic came as a side note when working on another FFXIIfic titled The Grace of St Ajora, and I realized I wanted to get this part out of my system first before finishing chapter one.

She married Rassler under the pretense of romantic love and sense of duty, though the former was her primary motivation. He was everything she was raised to love in a man and everything proper to her people and most important of all, to her father.

Rassler was brave as he was wise beyond his years; he was stoic when he needed to be, and in their brief time together he taught her such a simple and sweet language of love, when he pressed her knuckles to his lips and offered a smile reserved only for her. She was impossibly enamored, like any proper young Princess should be.

Their wedding night had been a long foreshadowed topic of conversation like many others before it, where her ladies in waiting giggled in hushed tones, sharing stories that filled her head like foreboding cautionary tales:

_“You'll bleed the first time, it'll be like your monthly flow.”_

_“Nonsense Mera, mine was like a murderer had stolen into my bed for the night and slit me from every vessel!”_

Ashe pursed her lips tightly, afraid of any words she may speak revealing what was the reality of her naivete.

She wandered to the training yard when she knew Rassler would be there, sparring with the Captain Basch in the center while she remained secluded under the cover of a cloak. It was clear who was the more experienced and fluid of the two, however Rassler held his own quite well. He was quite strong.

He'd surely be gentle with her wouldn't he?

* * *

When she was little, no older than three or four years from her name day, she chased her brothers hard up a hill in the palace gardens towards a great tree. It was rare to see landscape so lush in Dalmasca, but she was determined to conquer it as they had. She tripped and fell, shoving the help that ran out to aid her as brusquely as she could, and took off running again.

At the base of the great tree her brothers taunted her from above, and when she lifted her gray eyes to the dangling legs of the boys above her she yelled a rather animalistic sound in anger and frustration at their taunting, causing them to burst in laughter, further fueling her anguish and determination.

Her small hands struggled to grip the bark against the smoothness of her fingers. For several moments, she appeared to climb successfully without the support of a limb, though her triumph crumbled in a matter of seconds as her palms skidded down the rough bark, peeling layers from her tender flesh as she went. She ran crying in defeat with bleeding palms and knees back to the palace seeking comfort from the handmaiden waiting with open arms.

It was so easy to find comfort back then.

* * *

On her wedding night years later, Rassler was careful with her, because in reality even in all her feistiness she was as delicate as a virginal Princess should be, and he removed his formal armor in single pieces as she leaned against the frame of their bed and bit her lip, wanting the night to play out according the the wisdom of her handmaidens who advised her on everything a man would and would not like, waking her hours earlier than the ceremony to scrub and bathe her in petals and oils.

But after he'd carefully untied the curtains about their bed and laid her down, and carefully tucked her hair behind her ears she realized that none of that mattered. He was a proper man, and she a proper woman, and it wouldn't have mattered if she smelled of fresh citrus groves or of the desert sand and sweat. She gripped the sheets and stoically stifled a whimper of pain with eyes tearing and her head turned to the side, no wanting to look him in the eye.

Had they been more enlightened of the process the night would have been different. Because he held her so tenderly and kissed her so thoroughly afterward that none of it mattered, but that was hardly what a young bride wanted to remember about the consummation of her marriage.

_“I'm so sorry I hurt you, Ashe.”_

She nodded, looking upward at the canopy of their bed in silence. The next time wasn't supposed to hurt so badly. But he passed away before they ever had that chance from blood loss and a punctured lung.

* * *

“What do we have here?” Her elderly aide looked at her sternly as Ashe was released from the embrace. She was determined to not show how badly the wounds truly hurt, kicking her legs from the edge of the table as the aide leaning forward in a white dress, scrubbing at the dirt in her knees and elbows and hands.

“I was running and I fell.” Ashe said simply, “I wanted to climb the tree and I fell again.”

The aide shook her head, grey locks falling loose from the braids that adorned her head.

Sometimes when Ashe dreamed or tried to focus she could still see the interwoven gray- haired pattern in the back of her eyelids.

“See what happens when little Princesses try such things? You should stay inside more, where you won't get hurt.”

* * *

The first time she took up a sword was in the training yard before Captain Basch. It was years before she met Rassler, when her two oldest brothers passed in the most recent conflict.

His calloused hands moved over hers firmly, voice confirming to her the steps of the basic drill. He'd nod when she got it right, (to her amusement more to himself than to anyone else- it was a subtle mannerism of his), and take a step back with his own wooden training sword, urging her onward.

He never spoke to her like she was delicate, the way everyone else did. Ashe was quite grateful for that later in life, when her path had demanded that she take up a sword whether she wanted to or not.

* * *

She'd guessed that there were very few moments in Balthier's life that he had an inkling that he'd gone too far.

And now was one of those times.

The light of the camp fire scattered over the waves of the coast and she watched him as he waded out with pant legs rolled up about his knees. He tossed a shimmering object over in his hand and flipped it briefly in the air, swiftly catching it in the opposite hand.

Ashe sighed, halfheartedly anxious with his flitting such a precious object about. If it were to slip from his fingers and land in the water that continually rushed and receded against his calves it'd be lost forever to the whim of the seas.

It was the ring Rassler presented her at their betrothal. The object she nervously thumbed as he rode out to war voluntarily, kissing her good-bye and returning to her in a casket, and Balthier tossed it like it was a coin he'd won in a bet, besting perhaps a tricky barhand or a hunter in dire need of spare gil.

She watched him, saying nothing as the old faded scars on her elbows joined with the scars of her knees drawn protectively to her chest.

“He bothers you.” Basch's voice emerged from behind her. She could feel other eyes on her as well: Fran. Vaan. Penelo.

Ashe was exasperated. “It is not simply him that bothers me.” She shrugged, offering a polite smile to the only remaining member of her childhood household as he sank in the sand beside her.

Basch listened in silence, pushing shoulder length hair back in both his hands. He was starting to look like the powerful man from the past again- not the famished prisoner who smelled of his own piss in a wretched prison obelisque.

“Forgive me,” Basch smiled back at her wearily. If he were more of an affectionate man he'd squeeze her hand reassuringly. “I must have misjudged.”

They sat in silence, and she was grateful for the company. And it wasn't until Balthier turned and eyed her posture that the tossing of the ring came to a halt. He caught it in his palm one last time and closed his hand around it before sliding it into his pants pocket and walked to sit beside Fran, avoiding eye contact with Ashe the entire time.

He didn't know it then, but she was as perceptive as he, perhaps even moreso. She read a hint of remorse from him and she relished that.

Good. So, he did have a heart after all.

Yes, she was bothered by Balthier. She was bothered by his cool self-assured manner in which he'd stroll to a wench in a tavern, leaning forward which his elbows on the bar with his gold earrings glinting in the candlelight, and offer a charming smile and a halfhearted (she could tell) compliment over an order for a drink, and when she and her companions approached the same wench for a drink it was like her existence was a bother.

Ashe was bothered by the way his hands moved methodically over his gun, pushing a release button at the base of the barrel to dissemble it and separate the parts within by their corresponding pins and coils. He'd clean the parts and pick at the carbon with a needle, scraping and sliding a cloth until his hands turned black, and then he'd reassemble it piece by piece until he was satisfied with the click of the trigger and the sliding of the barrel when he cocked it backward.

He'd pull the trigger one more time and it'd click and he'd eye her and push the button on the side of the hand well again and the barrel would fall forward again.

_Click._

Release.

And she lacked the discretion to even take her eyes off of him.

Ashe was bothered the entire year after he'd sent her the ring back, in nothing more than a cryptically worded letter with no information on how to reach him.

That was the most isolating year of her life, as she watched Basch from afar adjust to his new position as an Imperial Judge- the last familiar face of her childhood encased in foreign armor, and her correspondence with Penelo grew more scarce as she suspected the younger woman was adjusting into her life in the skies with Vaan.

It wasn't as if she didn't have much to do; that couldn't be further from the truth. The reconstruction and salvage of Nabudis was a tiresome ordeal, and her first month in the city of Rabanastre was chaos as remaining Imperial sympathizers clashed with her own loyalists despite public messages of deterrence from Larsa. There was a clumsy assassination attempt that was thwarted quickly in the light of day during a public address.

She had the support of the majority, this she knew, but still the threat of treachery and uprisings against her were all to real, and at times she lay in bed at night staring at the sheer canopy of her bed- her_ father's_ bed, and felt vulnerable. She needed a friend. She needed guidance from someone who wasn't indebted to her. She needed honesty and deliverance from the cage she'd enclosed herself in.

* * *

“If I stay inside,” Ashe countered the aide sharply, “I'll never climb the tree like they can.”

The aide rolled her eyes. “No need to climb trees, my love. Let's get you washed up, hmm?”

Ashe frowned, letting the elderly woman guide her along the hall by a gentle hand to her shoulder.

“They're my brothers. Why aren't they inside like me?” Ashe reasoned aloud.

“They're boys. Princes. You are a_ Princess_, and you must learn to live inside, so that whatever lord you marry one day will have a happy home waiting for him when he's off protecting Dalmasca- and your father and your brothers.”

Ashe blinked back tears. She'd known she was Princess since she could remember, but it was this aspect of her birthright that she was unfamiliar with.

* * *

The mist of the humidity in the jungle left a pooled above her upper lid that trickled in a salty spill into her mouth. The same went from her brow to her eye lashes, and she blinked the sting from her eyes.

The haze of the Golmore Jungle was upon them, and in the midst of battle had settled, but her deep breaths make her feel like she was choking and dizzy.

“We should camp here,” Balthier commented, eyes scanning the trees above. “No sign of predators.”

“But the barrier...” Ashe rebutted. She was hoping they'd make more progress in one day. She looked to Fran for information, and the tall Viera only turned her head, offering nothing.

“He's right, milady.” Basch spoke gently behind her. “We must rest, or our next battle could be a fatal one.”

Ashe clenched and unclenched her fists. Every day felt like wasted time. And in the middle of the jungle with her surroundings remaining the same as they did the day before, she felt as if they were moving in circles.

“I'll take first watch.” Balthier offered.

Vaan grunted in relief as he dropped the panther he'd slain from earlier onto the surface of the road. “Guess we have work to do.” He kicked at the corpse with his toe.

“_I'll_ take first watch.” Ashe rebutted, and their comrades turned to her in surprise. She didn't know why, but she was especially irritated with Balthier that day. It wasn't that he'd done anything intentionally, but he'd bitten out of an apple at breakfast and offered her a piece, and from that moment on she decided he was a bother.

But he was useful, she couldn't deny that.

“Fine thing then, _milady_.” He mocked Basch's tone only subtly. “ We shall take first watch together.”

She nodded, and walked past him to the edge of the platform where Penelo busied herself with a fire, and Vaan and Basch began the arduous process of skinning and gutting the meat as Fran unloaded supplies.

“Forgive me if I'm being inaccurate,” Balthier spoke at last, as they strode the road around the encampment in silence, “But you've been especially cold to me today.”

There were a million responses Ashe could muster- none of them seemed suitable. She couldn't say '_You offered me an apple you'd bitten and it offended me.' or 'You make decisions for the group as if you are the monarch, and not I. You're a pirate.' or 'You're scandalous in your dealings and I have every right to spite you for it.'_

But least of all, she couldn't comment on the sweat that soaked his shirt and clung to him in a flattering manner, and she felt guilty by it all- by her physical attraction to such a man who was proving himself to be increasingly intelligent, increasingly useful to her cause, and increasingly witty.

Ashe was a widow. A grieving and heartbroken widow from a man who outranked Balthier by both political and ethical standing by miles.

So she said nothing.

* * *

She was continuously bothered until Balthier's father drew his last breath, and she looked to the prodigal son who eyed his father for only a brief moment of physical signs of grief.

She knew that look. She knew that grief. He'd told her once that he'd already lost his father years ago, but actually witnessing the death of a father must excruciating, even for Balthier.

When she knocked upon his cabin door aboard the Strahl he only answered after what she summed was a full minute of silence. Or five. It had been a long time.

In a world of pain, there were moments when orphans found one another in the most unworthy of circumstances. She was an orphan stripped of family, allies, and acknowledgment of her existence and Balthier was an orphan stripped of family, title, and his name from birth.

She didn't want to be a widow anymore, and by the fading of Rassler's ghost she was freed from that burden.

“Hello.” She barely whispered.

He looked at her curiously, His eyes were sad, but not the intense sort of sadness of a child losing a parent, but the sadness of a man lost to the fall of a great house of Archades.

“Hello.” He replied, his tone carrying a hint of humor.

“You weren't in the dining cabin for supper.” Ashe accused gently. That wasn't why she was concerned, “Penelo made her mother's stew.”

Balthier's nose wrinkled. “Not a fan of wolf innards, is all.”

Ashe laughed. “None of us are. But it makes Penelo feel close to her mother, I think.”

“So we must all suffer?”

Ashe's mouth formed a line as she fought off a grin.

“I suspect you must suffer as it is.” She told him frankly.

He stiffened as she reached out to touch the edge of his jaw with the tips of her fingers.

There was only silence, save for the echoing of footsteps on the deck overhead. Below their feet they were quite literally flying above the clouds, and above their feet his fingers laced over hers, holding them quite firmly against his cheek.

“I do know something of suffering.” Balthier inhaled. It was perhaps the most honest words she'd ever heard him speak.

* * *

Ashe winced as she entered her bathwater on the night after the first day she'd attempted to climb the tree. She'd been scolded by her father, initiating more infuriating sniggers from her brothers who were present. She submerged herself in the hot water, fighting the tears that the steaming liquid produced against fresh wounds.

She _would_ not stay inside. She could not simply make some lord happy by living in his house and embroidering things, reading books, and commenting with local noble ladies about who was seen with who.

_She did not want to stay inside._

* * *

Balthier's clothing was removed in only a brief moment with the effort of her shaking hands, as his kiss had drawn her into him so far that she started with the unbuttoning of his shirt.

He was in pain, she decided, and she was comfort, whatever that was. But his pain washed over her in waves of lust moving from his hands over her skin. He didn't treat her as if she was delicate, because he knew that she wasn't. Whatever heartbreak from separation would take her after this, she could handle.

He kissed her neck when pushed into her on his bed and she inhaled harshly. He was precise with his hands, moving them to where she wanted them to be, the moment she wanted them there, though she couldn't bare to bring hers from their hold around his neck.

He looked at her when they lay there bare in the darkness, side by side, his father's corpse still fresh in the air.

“I'm sorry.”

Ashe could only swallow and look back at him, right in the eye.

“As am I.”

* * *

_“Balthier! Do you understand exactly what it is that you're doing?”_

_“Princess! No need to worry. I hope you haven't forgotten my role in this little story. I'm the leading man. You know what they say about the leading man? He never dies.”_

* * *

Ashe's days holding court were beyond tiresome- not because they were topics uninteresting to her, but because she cared too deeply to not let the conflict of her peoples burden her.

Empathy, not sympathy. Sympathy made the heart grow too weary.

She knew better, but still.

Her nights were long as well, and it wasn't uncommon for her to fall asleep at the desk in her study and wake in time to wash her face and look fresh for the next morning.

Until the first letter from Penelo came.

The letter was from the perspective of a young woman- not the girl she'd met all that time ago. Penelo still carried a childlike sweetness, Ashe could tell, but there was something new in her words. Resurgence of the excitement of adventure? Stifled feelings for Vaan? The burden of truth that comes along with entering womanhood? Conflicting responses from Larsa as he assumed the role of Emperor? Ashe wasn't sure, she only first encountered that burden with the falling of the kingdom after her father's death.

Penelo's letters filled her with joy, that she was definitely sure. The tales of misadventure and near failure could only render those two unscathed. She smiled when she read the words pressed into paper in immaculate penmanship.

* * *

Ashe stood before the great tree the day of her last brother's funeral, when his body was safe and sealed within the royal family's crypt. The sky opened up in a rare and brief desert rain, and the soil felt immeasurably cool beneath her feet.

She stood tall enough to properly reach for a branch now, and she did as she pulled her body draped in a black funeral dress upward upon the lowest branch.

She reached for the next available one and pulled herself upward again. And the next.

And the next.

She was at the highest one that would hold her weight when the rain stopped and her father came, his wise eyes finding her high above him, gently swinging her feet in the cool breeze that came after rains did, but only before the sun set and it felt frigid.

She half expected him to scold her, to tell her she belonged indoors like the aide from years ago did, and usher her back down and tell her to wash up for supper, or to put her shoes on so that she could greet their foreign mourners with grace.

But she'd underestimated what losing yet another child could do to a face, and he met her with a warm smile instead.

“What do you see up there?” The king of Dalmasca asked her simply.

Ashe's eyes narrowed. “I'm not sure.”

“Surely you climbed so far to get a good view of your kingdom.”

She squinted. She did have a thorough view of the courtyard and the northern side of the palace. But everything else was beyond her reach.

“I never thought about that.” She replied to her father earnestly.

“Then why did you climb up there?” His eyes were wide, he was genuinely seeking her answer.

“I've always wanted to know what it felt like.”

“To climb so high?”

“Yes, father.”

“Tell me then,” Her father's eyes narrowed, “Was it worth the scars on your hands and your knees?”

He knew. It must've been the cranky old aide of just plain palace gossip but he'd heard of her shrieking at her brothers in frustration at their mockery years before.

“It was.” She told him defiantly, looking upon him from above. “Because I had to try so hard, and grow so much to get up here, where they sat.”

She blinked back tears as her father watched her in an expression she was unable to read.

* * *

It was late in the night, when she was lulled to sleep by paperwork and lack of rest that a breeze woke her.

It was gentle at first, but then a bitter cold as it persisted, as winters in Rabanastre were extremely chill, however brief with nothing more than a visible breath from the lips in the morning and a chill in the bones.

“You really should have better security, milady, the night holds many dangers, as you know.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped and jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking the piles of files she had stacked in the cabinet beside her, had she not reflexively grabbed to them to steady herself.

“Balthier.” She breathed.

It was him. She'd believed him dead for loved enough until his less-than-informative letter that arrived with Rassler's ring attached, and then she'd grown increasingly frustrated with him- not from his existence this time, but from the lack thereof.

Vaan, Penelo, Ondore, Larsa, and Basch had all made the effort to come to her coronation, and when she hopefully scanned the crowd of noble faces he wasn't there.

The day of her assassination attempt was filled with debriefings and assurances. And though Balthier was always quick with a gun, he wasn't there.

Her birthday.

Larsa's birthday.

Her coronation.

Winter holidays.

No sign of the pirate named Balthier.

“Perhaps this is a bad time.” He teased her gently, mockingly turning to leave.

“H-How did you? I thought you were...” Ashe stammered and shook her head in disbelief.

“Dead? The letter and a gift from a dead man didn't tip you off, you mean.”

“The gift being the ring from my betrothed that you'd taken from me as payment?”

“After I kidnapped you, I believe.” Balthier nodded.

“I did ask you to.” Ashe admitted, she voice growing more steady as she approached him, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“It was no easy task, mind you.” Balthier replied.

She didn't even care about his coyness. It was surreal, standing in her study with him now while she was dressed in nothing but a nightgown and a silk robe, with piles of notes and records around her and he stood before her by a wide open window he'd clearly climbed in from.

“How so? I would think capturing a Princess would be such an easy feat for a rogue pirate such as you.”

“As would I, your highness.” He bowed suddenly, as if momentarily remembering he was in the presence of the Queen of Dalmasca. “But there was an explosion, you see. And the Princess had other plans, plans that involved so many explosions.”

She held out her hand, playing along in his charade as he knelt before her. “Ah, I suppose that it enough to hinder a thief.”

“No cloud, no squall, should hinder a thief.” He murmured against her knuckles as he kissed them.

“Then I suppose you are a proper thief and pirate no longer.”

Balthier's eyes widened in mock puzzlement. “What kind of thief returns what he stole?”

Ashe swallowed hard, remembering the ring that she was no longer wearing, but was returned to the crypt where Rassler rested.

“Not a very good one.”

“How about about a leading man, then?” He stood now.

“A leading man would be fitting, yes.”

Her words hung in the night like dampened cloth.

“Balthier, what are you doing here?” Ashe asked, clutching the hem of her neckline in a sudden burst of modesty.

“I came to see you.” His eyes bore into hers, flitting from her right to the left, and then back again.

“And?”

“You're going to make me say more.” He lamented.

“I never made you do anything,” Ashe shook her head and stepped to him softly, “Not any more than you kidnapping me.”

“That is true, as I'm here because I wanted to be."

“How long can you stay?”

“Not long. Your security will notice Fran's position sooner or later. I cannot endanger her more than I already have.”

“Then what?”

“I'll return, if that's what you want.”

“It is.”

* * *

The skies over Jakarta were especially clear. It was one of the many times they'd traveled to the prairie tribe and sat under the stars, so much that the tribesmen were happy to give them their own tent for the entire party in the camp, and to accommodate them with drink, food, and song.

After such events Ashe took to the bridge alone, or sometimes not if Basch joined her for a bit.

“Did you know,” She smiled when Balthier strode up to join her, “I was never able to see the sky like this until Dalmasca fell?”

“No,” He answered matter-of-factly as he settled himself beside her. “But I'm not surprised. Your city was faring much better until then.”

She nudged him with her elbow, begging in silence for his understanding.

“But I never did either, until I ran away from home.” He confessed.

“But the night sky, when unaltered, can do strange things.”

Ashe eyed him curiously, “Is that so? Such as?”

“If you're in the sky, it can appear as though you're flying in the wrong direction, when you're not. And when you've only been flying for minutes, it can seem like hours, but hours can seem like minutes.”

“I can see that,” Ashe reasoned. “Hours seem like minutes out here. But I envy that.”

“You, the heir of Dalmasca, envying the prairie dwellers?”

She nodded, “With this view I do.”

Later, she led him to a spring beneath the village where they removed their clothing down to their underwear and dove in laughing, with the light of the full moon bending and twisting above them from under the water.

She broke the surface, only to rub her eyes and find him watching her silently. She splashed him and dove under again.

They were like kids that night, younger than Vaan and Penelo, if that were possible. The possibility of the world was lost to him and when he gripped her arm and pinned her against his body she thought nothing of it. He'd kissed her, however briefly, under the light of the moon in the perfect night sky and it was only Rassler's face flashing to her close eyelids that caused her to gasp and pull away from him, immediately seeking the stability of the shore.

* * *

Ashe found him next at a manor in Balfonheim, months after he'd appeared and vanished in her study when she should've been sleeping soundly.

“You,” Her words were slurred from the wine she'd ingested at the inn prior to her confrontation, giving her liquid courage for such an event. “You keep running away from me.”

“Princess,” Balther's eyes were wide when he saw her there, as stunned as she had been when he crashed into her study like a ghost from beyond, and Fran immediately rose from the table and strutted off the balcony and shoved her drink across the table to him, as though punctuating a point she'd been making to him for quite some time now.

“-I'm not a 'Princess' anymore.” Ashe snarled.

“Right. Queen, then.”

“I've been looking for you.” Ashe pointed her finger at him accusingly. Her shoulders were square in pure confrontation. Her grey eyes were narrow and the corners of her nose were lifted in a slight snarl. “Waiting for you. I know our circumstances are less than ideal...” Ashe drifted, finding a moment to pause and lower her gaze before meeting his again.

“And I know that you've absolved your titles, and I could hardly afford the scandal of associating with such a man- a man like you.”

Her words were true, but to her he never looked more regal, and Balthier had many effortlessly regal moments, be it from breeding or from education. His shirt was embroidered with threads of black and the slightest hint of silver, and it hung over his waist in slight taunting of what his body looked like there, though his high collar line screamed of modesty and sensibility.

“Ashe...”

“I don't want to _be_ with anyone but _you_, Balthier.”

As she had hoped, he was unable to deny her request.

His body moved over her later like a river, and her's the ready torrent of rain. But he'd remembered all the places that elicited the greatest response from her that he'd already learned on the day that his father died.

She inhaled sharply into his mouth over hers, her hands now daring the trail from his neck, down his spine, to his tailbone, and he greeted her with a hard shiver.

There was no pleasure, no comfort, no relief or security like that of being loved.

* * *

There were many ghosts in Dalmasca. They floated above the streets like an ominous warning of the wars and destruction to come but she didn't care; she wanted her kingdom to heal, to move on, to be better than the kingdom she'd been raised in.

She married Balthier the following spring, before the great tree in the courtyard. Basch showed his face in silent approval, and Fran and Vaan and Penelo were all in attendance, with Larsa present as the Imperial representative himself.

She would teach her children the importance of hardship, she decided, but also the importance of love. Sometimes love was hardship, and sometimes love led to hardship. But love was worth it, because the world was better when decisions were made with love, and by those who understood it. This was important to her, as her children would be raised upon the graves of their ancestors.

Because the feeling of being loved, unabashed and non-withholding, there was nothing quite like it. Balthier was surprisingly popular with her people as he was with the barmaids of Balfonheim and Archades.

Nabudis still housed many ghosts.


End file.
